


Sunshine is of the Stars

by blackholehuman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Harry Potter Next Generation, I'm very new at tagging sorry, M/M, Mystery, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Some Fluff and Angst, Will add more as needed - Freeform, slowburn, tri-wizard tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholehuman/pseuds/blackholehuman
Summary: Draco has a son. Harry has two, and a daughter, and a wife, until he doesn't. Have a wife, that is. Draco's son is an abnormal Seer, and Hogwarts' newest Tri-Wizard Champion. That's a problem for Draco, because people die in that tournament- and a problem for Harry, who has a fierce desire to protect Draco. Chaos, mystery, and love ensues. Also, Rita Skeeter continues to be, well, a bint.





	1. Seeing is Believing

“What the _bloody_ _hell_ do you mean, I’ve got to choose?”

“Sir, I know the situation is not ideal, but-”

“Not ideal? I have to choose whether my wife or unborn son dies, and the situation is _not ideal?”_

“There isn’t anything to be done; you see, her family was cursed-”

“You could heal her. That is your _JOB!_ ”

The nurse visibly winced, and he stammered, opening his mouth to speak again, before the doctor walked into the waiting room and cut him off.

“Mr. Malfoy, I must ask you to remain calm. We have done everything we can.”

Draco scoffed loudly. Remain calm? Right.

The doctor was unfazed, and she proceeded to outline the situation: “Astoria’s family was cursed, many generations ago. If she delivers the baby, she will bleed internally, and die. Or, we can abort the pregnancy, and she will live.”

“Abort the pregnancy?” Draco said harshly. He was, quite frankly, horrified. “Her water broke _t_ _his morning_. My son is as good as born.”

“Would you like to speak with her? We have a Stasis Charm on the mother right now, but if you wait too long, she’ll lose the baby.”

“How long?” he whispered.

The doctor glanced at the clock. “An hour, or 90 minutes, tops,” she said.

Draco looked up at her and swallowed thickly. “I- I’m sorry for losing my temper.”

She had the good grace to look sympathetic. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco nodded, and followed her out the door into the hall. The walls and floor were a shade of white so bright, it made him want to shield his eyes. He had never liked St. Mungo’s; it always smelled like stale potions. The Hospital Wing at Hogwarts at least smelled like chocolates and peonies.

The doctor stopped at the door. “Time is not on your side, sir. My condolences for your loss in advance.” She bowed her head and swept down the hall, around a corner, and out of sight, leaving Draco to wonder in what world could that be described as good bedside manner.

When he reached for the doorknob, he noticed his hands were shaking.

“Draco?” came a soft voice from inside the room.

To say that Astoria Malfoy (nee Greengrass) looked frail was an overstatement. Her skin was translucent and paper thin. He could see blue and dark red veins trailing up and down her arms, which seemed thinner than they were just hours ago. Her lips were chapped, and the whites of her pale gold eyes were reddening as the blood vessels in them began to pop. She reached for him, and he rushed to her side. Up close, he could see the light blue magic surrounding her- the Stasis Charm- and something darker, trying to eat away at it. _The curse._

“Astoria, what do I do? I can’t possibly be asked to choose, I want you both!”

She smiled at him. “You’re so spoiled Draco.”

He admired her for her teasing attitude, in a time like this. Astoria had a thick skin- _not anymore_ , the dark parts of his brain reminded him- and he thinks it’s why they had got on so well, despite the arranged marriage. She never stood for any of his antics, and had a kind disposition that often threw him off.

“Draco,” she whispered, more serious this time, “our son, he can See. He has shown me things,” her eyes moved to the ceiling, tears forming, “he’s so beautiful. Scorpius, he showed me the stars, and his future,” Astoria clasped his hand in both of hers. “Let me show you Draco… so beautiful…” she trailed off, and Draco feared the Stasis Charm was poorly cast, for his wife had surely gone mad.

Nevertheless, he drew his wand.

“ _Legilimens.”_

Draco was instantly transported into a vast, black vacuum of space, where he watched 18 bright white lights connect with thick golden lines: _Scorpius_ , said a voice, not his wife’s but his own;

And the scene shifted. A little boy with silver blond hair and two different coloured eyes was running towards him- a _future_ Draco, for his hair was longer and pulled back;

Then to the same boy, older now, running out of the brick wall which hid platform 9 ¾, clad in silver and green robes;

The prophetic visions were moving too fast to be able to see them clearly. Draco thought he saw a wispy phoenix Patronus, the glint of a  ceremonial crown of some sort, a handshake and an acceptance speech-

And it was over. He was transported back into reality, hyperventilating.

“My son,” Astoria said, tears streaming down her cheeks, “he _Sees_ , Draco. Our lovely little boy… you have glimpsed his future. I am not in it.”

“Astoria-”

“Mr. Malfoy. I’m afraid you are running out of time.” The question hidden inside the statement could not have been more obvious. Draco looked over his shoulder, terrified to see that the doctor had returned. He knew the look on her face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Scorpius, my sunshine son,” Astoria answered for him, “the Slytherin Prince, the Scorpion King… Did you see Draco, did he show you? He has your face, and my eye, and he can _See,_ ” the nurses were coming in now, preparing to take off the charm, and deliver his son. They didn’t seem to be listening to her, mistaking her words for gibberish.  

“Astoria,” he said, and he hadn’t realized how much he was crying, “please, I can’t do this without you.”

She laughed, a sound like fairies and the breeze in the spring. She put one of her hands in his hair, on his face, trailing the scar on his neck.

“ _Do not stand at my grave and weep,”_ she quoted, “ _I am not there. I do not sleep.”_

Draco let his head fall on to her chest, crying in earnest. Astoria gasped, and a third cry joined their sorrows. He moved away, turning to catch sight of-

Their son. Their son, who _was_ beautiful. Shrouded in light from the window behind him, he was placed in his mother’s arms. He stopped crying instantly, and began to coo softly instead.

“ _I am- I am the sunlight on his hair,”_ Astoria improvised, smiling at her son and husband. She was clever, to the very end. _When you awaken in morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush, of Wild magic in the air._ ”

Astoria held their son out to Draco, who forced himself to stand on shaking legs. He was so small he could be cradled in just one of his arms. He reached out his free hand to his wife, who was fading fast.

Astoria had eyes only for her son, reaching out to touch him. The three were joined together by touch, and Draco willed Astoria’s heartbeat to match his own, but her face was growing more and more distant. He hoped their son was somehow showing her a better place and time.

“ _Do not stand at my grave and cry_ ,” Astoria spoke, closing her eyes, “ _I am not there. I did not die_.”

What seemed like dozens of the nurses’ wands let out sounds of alarm as she took her last breath. All of them, including the stoic doctor, froze, silently waiting, listening for Astoria’s last words.

“I am so lucky, to die surrounded by the sunshine of the stars.”

  
\---☼☼☼---

 

They were sitting at the dinner table, colouring on blank pieces of parchment when he asked, “Father, why is my name so odd?”

It was an innocent question, really. Five year olds had the right to be curious, after all.

“Scorpius, you were named for a constellation, as I was. You know this.” Draco knew that he was dodging Scorpius’s real question, and that his son was not so easily fooled. He did it anyway, though; how can he explain to his son that he had named himself? Was he strong enough to know his middle name had been drawn from his mother’s final words?

Scorpius put down his crayons and pushed his drawing aside. “That’s not what I meant. My middle name, Sharik. It’s Arabic, isn’t it? Or African?”

Draco closed his eyes. _He_ wasn’t even prepared to talk about Astoria’s death.

“It means ‘the one on whom the sun shines.’”

“Okay, but _why-_ ”

Draco forced a smile as he ruffled his son’s hair. “Get back to your drawing, sunshine,” then he frowned, deciding something, “I’ll tell you the story, but when you’re older.”

Hours later, after he had read Scorpius several books and put him to sleep, Draco saw the drawing, and gasped.

The picture lacked the scribbling style that all five year olds used to draw, and instead was a clear and coherent image. Scorpius had drawn a small dragon, sitting on a bed that was filled with bright yellow sunflowers and white asphodels. Peonies sprouted from the floor of the room, surrounding the bed.

Draco knew his son was a Seer. He also knew that Seers often worked with symbols to interpret the future.

But this was a scene from the past.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

Draco found out his son had an affinity for communicating with the dead in the most dreadful way possible.

They had been walking down Diagon Alley. Scorpius, now eight, had demanded that he bring him to get more books on Divination from Flourish and Blotts, as the Malfoy Library had only a minimal amount, and he had already gone through them all about three times.

“You’re reading that set _again_?” he had asked his son.

“Father, I’m actually just _finishing_ the set again,” replied Scorpius in a bored tone, “and it certainly won’t be the last time I read them, either. Although,” he paused, eyes flashing, with what Draco was now accustomed to being the sign that his son has just had a vision, “you’re going to take me to Diagon Alley soon to get more.”

Draco folded his arms. “Oh really?” He absolutely hated going out in public; his past followed him everywhere. Not that his son needed to know that, though. Yet.

Scorpius was all smiles. “Yes, really. Sometime this week, actually.”

That’s how he ended up here, despite how much he loathed when his son was right about something. But that wasn’t true at all; in fact, he was beyond proud. Seeing is an exclusive gift, and based off of the little he knew about Divination, Draco put together that Scorpius will be among the greatest Seers, if not be the best himself.

It was on their way to Fortescue’s- upon their arrival, Scorpius mischievously predicted ice cream- when his son doubled over in laughter. When he stood straight again, he was grinning from ear to ear and there were tears of happiness in his eyes, which were gray with the fog that usually accompanied his visions.

There was something new though: lines of worry and depression against Scorpius’s young face, making him look aged beyond his years. Despite having just laughed out loud, his demeanor was quickly changing from fatuous to serious, and he furrowed his brow.

“Father,” he whispered, tugging Draco down closer to him, “who made that joke?”

“I didn’t hear anything, Scorpius. It looked to me like one of your visions.”

Shaking his head, Scorpius turned around, looking back down the Alley.

“No,” he said, still whispering. “I usually See clearly. This- this man, he feels… distant, I think he’s trying to reach me…” Scorpius trailed off, eyes focusing on a brightly colored shop at the end of the Alley. He did not seem keen on moving. Sometimes Scorpius had to stop everything he was doing to maintain a vision, but he had just said it wasn’t a vision. Perhaps he was just trying to reach for whatever was trying to get him.

Draco swallowed nervously. They were standing in the middle of the Alley, sorely exposed and vulnerable. Although Scorpius did not know the full story of why his father avoided public appearance, he was smart enough to believe Draco had a good reason. He would guess that most people would know that he had a son- the bratty nurse he had yelled at spilled the whole story to the Rita Skeeter, and therefore, _The Prophet_ , procuring some nasty, opinionated Howlers for two whole weeks- and lots of people would take any opportunity to punish a Malfoy for themselves. _Like father, like son,_ if the saying is to believed. In Draco’s case, it repeated itself over two generations.

He ached for a place where he could cover his son from the curious stares Scorpius was getting before they turned into glares of hate and spiteful words, but as he tried to pull him from the center of the Alley, he simply pulled himself out of his father’s grip.

“Scorpius,” he hissed. And immediately regretted it, when his son turned to him, with a face wet with tears.

“Father, we have to go to that shop down there. The colorful one… Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes…. Its fairly new, he says. He thinks I’ll like it there, and that it's for children.” He looked at his father, who was completely gobsmacked, and thought that maybe his son should go to St. Mungo’s first. When Draco opened his mouth to voice his opinion, however, Scorpius went on:

“Father, please. I know you want to protest, but I have to go… He says, he says, ‘Tell your father to get his ferrety ar-’ er, that’s not a proper word, ‘-up to that shop this instant’. I don’t know what’s going on, Dad, please help me, take me there.”

And to Draco’s horror, Scorpius swayed on his feet and tipped over.

“I’ve got you,” he said when he caught Scorpius at the last second. “Would you like me to bring you to the shop?” He felt his son nod into his shoulder as he stood up and turned towards WWW.

Draco knew that deliberately walking into a Weasley shop would require courage on his part; but then again, he would do anything for his son. _Bloody Gryffindor ideologies._

Scorpius had never had a vision that took this much out of him. Magical exhaustion was clear from the moment he had almost fallen over, but Draco couldn’t actually see what he was trying to maintain. This worried him. He tried a wandless and wordless _Legilimens,_ but was instantly propelled back by what felt like a firework and a nasty, albeit vaguely familiar, “Don’t break his focus, I need him.”

He thought his son might be being possessed. If a person was possessed, their eyes would be a different color than usual. He checked, relieved to find that his son still had heterochromia. Of course, the gold and silver eyes were currently looking without really seeing, but at least his body wasn’t harboring a demon.

When they entered Wheezes, Draco Conjured a comfortable looking armchair and placed his still-dazed son in it. After checking that there were no other customers, he shut and locked the doors loudly, hoping that it would be enough to alert the owners.

“Dad,” said Scorpius dreamily, “He’s so excited. He says _two_ of his brothers are here. I can feel his happiness.” As he finished saying this, several things happened at once:

Draco realized what was happening. The way his son laughed, the familiar snarl and firework he felt while being rejected from Scorpius’s mind, why they were in _Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes_ , of all places. He recognized, with a start, that the owner of the voice was the owner of the shop. _Fred Weasley. My son is speaking to Fred,_ he thought, a little spooked by the fact that Fred had _died_ in the battle of Hogwarts and that his son was seeing  and speaking to him.

Thundering steps were heard, descending the staircase.

Ron Weasley said, “Malfoy, who the fuck gave you permission to walk into my shop and wreak havoc-”

George Weasley said, “Hey, let’s not be forgetting that this is _my_ shop, and that you are supposed to address our customers with politeness and grace.” He smiled innocently at Draco. “Excuse me Mr. Malfoy, but you do not have permission to be slamming and locking doors in this establishment. In fact, I think it would be best to leave, and never show your ferrety face in Diagon Alley again.”

He felt his face heat with an old, forgotten hatred of the Weasley family. He felt the guilt of his teenage years seeping into his skin, making him bluster. But Draco had to do this for Scorpius.

“It’s my son,” he said through clenched teeth, “he’s not well, and he demanded to see you. I think- I _know_ it’s important, please-” but he broke off, as George was staring at Scorpius in blatant shock. Scorpius gave him a sad grin back.

“Ron,” George whispered, not taking his eyes off of Scorpius, “I can feel him again…”

Ron instantly shook his head. “It’s been years, George. Whatever weird residual twin magic you had is gone by now.”

But George was already crying, and knelt down to come face to face with Scorpius.  “Let me see him,” he begged. Scorpius closed his eyes and touched George’s cheek; both the hand and the cheek began to glow, but in a different way. The glow was more like a thick, opaque fog.

Draco tensed, thinking of Astoria and her musings on Wild magic.  Ron just looked perplexed. After about seven minutes, George pulled his face back, and Scorpius slumped forward, at which Draco ran to his side. Ron went to steady George, who was sitting back on his heels and looked about ready to faint.

“It was Fred, dad, Fred Weasley.” His son said, looking drained, “you know, the hero who died in the War. It took so much, but he had to see his brother.”

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

“Father,” Scorpius sighed, putting down his newest book, “I’m 11 now.”

“Well _blimey_ , is it November second already?” Draco gave his son a cheeky grin. They were sitting in the Malfoy Library: Scorpius, surrounded by the books his father had just bought him for his birthday, and Draco, sitting at a mahogany desk, reading his most recent potions requests. “I’m so sorry to have forgotten one of your most important birthdays.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes, and dropped the formality in his voice. “ _Dad_ , I have a _serious question._ ” He looked over to where Draco was working, and his eyes flashed. “And you’re not going to like the request in that letter.”

Draco raised his eyebrow at his son. “You really think you know everything, don’t you? First the date, then the letter…” he paused, glancing at the name signed at the bottom of the now opened letter.

He swore, and set it on fire.

“Old Mrs. Yaxley is quite persistent, isn’t she?” Scorpius laughed, doubling over in glee. “This is, what, her fifth request for a poison? I can’t believe she’s still trying to kill her husband. He’s in prison, for Merlin’s sake.”

Draco tried not to wince at the reference to Death Eaters in Azkaban. “Well, at least it means they’ll end soon. Didn’t you say she’d stop after seven?”

Scorpius nodded, then looked angry. “Dad, you got me distracted again. I was going to ask you a question.”

Draco turned around in his chair, stunned at the tone of Scorpius’s voice.

“I was only wondering if you would tell me now. How I got my name. And the _real_ story, not the traditional ‘named after the stars’ bollocks.”

“Scorpius, watch your mouth. What a common swear, honestly. Your vocabulary is expansive enough to-”

“ _Father!”_ Scorpius drawled, huffing with his temper.

Draco looked at his son again, stung with the feeling of sadness that washed over him like a cool wind. _I am a thousand winds that blow…_

He shivered, and decided to acquiesce.“You know the poem ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep?’”

“By Mary Elizabeth Frye?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Your mother made it her own, before she died.” It was when he saw his son’s face that he decided he didn’t have to tell him about the fact that he had to choose between the two of them. “She was trying to comfort me, I think. The first line she improvised was, ’I am the sunlight on his hair.’”

“That’s what my middle name means,” he whispered, “‘the one on whom the sun shines.” Draco noddedd. Scorpius scrunched his eyebrows together, lost in thought.

… which in Scorpius’s case, meant he had just Seen something.

“I don’t mind, you know. That you chose me.”

Draco looked up, eyes glistening from the tears that were forming. “I really never meant to tell you.”

Scorpius shrugged, and gave a sad smile. “I would’ve figured it out anyway, you know that. What I just Saw was so real, it could have been a memory.” He stood up, and walked towards his father.

“Well, you _were_ there,” Draco started, before feeling his son’s arms wrap around him in a tight embrace.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

Draco finally realized his son was no ordinary Seer in the days leading up to his departure for Hogwarts. And indeed, the day of the departure as well.  

Scorpius went through the wall to the platform, pushing the trunk which was half full of new books and school supplies, complete with an owl in a cage on top. He was in full strut. His confidence, he told Draco, before they apparated to King’s Cross, “would be a general fuck off to all the haters.” Draco laughed, and reminded his son that using slang and cursing was rather unbecoming of him. Scorpius agreed, admitting he had only done it to make them both laugh, to forget about being nervous for a while. Draco was delighted that Scorpius had inherited his mother’s cleverness and kindness. He was especially thankful for it earlier that summer, about two weeks after Scorpius received his Hogwarts letter and list of supplies.

“Scorpius, I have something to talk to you about,” Draco had started.

He didn’t even look up from the book he was reading when he responded, “Father, if this is the part where you tell me you were a Death Eater, don’t get worked up over it. I already know.”

Draco, exasperated, threw his arms up in distress. “Of course. _Of course_ you already know what I spent weeks preparing to tell you.”

Scorpius just smirked. Draco sighed, defeated.

“Well. As long as you know that I’m not like that anymore.”

“Obviously not. Even Mother told me so.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You’ve spoken to her recently?”

Scorpius smiled, and said, “Yes. She came the night we received my Hogwarts letter. She told me that she was proud of us.”

“Us?”

Scorpius’s smile grew even wider. “She told me you’ve not only changed, but also grown. That’s when I had one of those visions of the past. I Saw… most of it.”

Draco’s face fell. He was not at all proud of what he had done during the War, and was embarrassed at the fact that Scorpius now knew all of it.

“Don’t be like that. Everything you did was to save your Mum and Dad. And do _not_ even start with the ‘I could have done more’ or ‘I should have left’ rubbish, because, take it from a Seer of all things, that doing either of those would have made every possible outcome worse. You were dealt a bad hand, so to speak, from the very start. How you were raised is not your fault.”

Draco was stunned, to say the least. How Scorpius could have known the outcomes of alternate choices was beyond him, but he went along with it, assuming his son was just the most powerful Seer in history.

“And about that, I wanted to thank you for raising me the way you did. I think I’m a likeable person with a big heart, and-”

“Don’t forget modest, and humble,” Draco cut in, teasing. Scorpius rolled his eyes, but smiled.

The last month before school was spent by Scorpius dragging Draco to all sorts of Muggle places- because he understood his father’s anxiety about the Wizarding public- and besides. Scorpius thought Muggles were much more interesting, and had lots more places to go, anyway. Draco took advantage of every moment he had with his son, because he knew the Manor would be awfully lonely without him.

Scorpius foretold that Draco would be too busy to miss him. “You’re really close to a breakthrough on that Wolfsbane 2.0 potion! There won’t be any time to mope about, trust me.” And Draco did. His son _was_ a Seer, after all. Though, he still needed to get the ingredients and test subjects sorted out with the Ministry, which he certainly was not looking forward to…

Anyway.

The anxiety he was trying to subdue when they walked onto the platform was made no better than when Hermione Granger, the Minister of Magic herself, caught sight of Scorpius’s rare eye coloring. Scorpius had gotten quite ahead of Draco, his hustle due to  the day’s excitement. This is why Granger noted Scorpius and not Draco.

“Sweet Merlin!” she exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing Scorpius by the shoulders. Her bushy hair engulfed their bodies. “You have heterochromia! You must be a Seer. Oh, please tell me you’re a Seer.”

Scorpius, who had the kindness of his mother, didn’t even look disturbed by the intrusion. “And you must be the Minister of Magic!” he said, matching her giddiness as his eyes lit up.

Granger blushed. “Well, yes, but that’s nowhere near as exciting as-”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Granger Weasley, but your son is going to attempt to board the train in about 30 seconds,” Scorpius informed her.

It was at this point Draco knew he was done for. How could he have forgotten? Granger and the Weasel were married. _And where they were, there was no doubt that-_

“Oi! Hermione! Kindly stop molesting that boy and get Hugo off the train.”

_Potter would follow._

“See?” Scorpius said cheekily. “Told you.”

Hermione looked delighted. “Stay right where you are. I’d love to have a chat with you about- HUGO! Please refrain from using Wheezes on the train!” and with that, she ran off, apparently to stop her son from creating a disaster.

That left Scorpius, himself, and Potter. Draco willed himself to stay invisible, and was pleased when Potter seemed to take no notice of him.

“Sorry about that. You know, she never believed in Divination, but she does recognize a gift when she sees one. You must be really talented.” Potter was smiling down at his son, the git. He was always so nice. It was infuriating.

His son just looked shocked. “You’re- you’re Harry Potter.”

Potter kept smiling. “Yeah, but I’m still not as cool as whatever you can do, I reckon.”

“No that’s not what I- you’re dead.”

Potter stopped smiling. “Er- I assure you, I’m not,” he was suddenly flustered, looking around him, as if he had a terrible secret, “what makes you think that?”

“You told me so! You’re telling me right now! Killed in the Battle of Hogwarts by the Dark Lord!”

Potter was getting angrier each second that Scorpius talked.“The Dark- no. You _really_ shouldn’t call him that. His name is Voldemort, or Tom Riddle. Only his sympathizers called him-” he was cut off by Scorpius’s abrupt collapse. Draco couldn’t stand to the side any longer. The symptoms were reminiscent of the first time Scorpius had talked to someone dead, but he _had_ gotten better since Fred. It never took this much energy; and anyway, Potter wasn't actually dead. When Draco gathered his son into his arms, he was horrified to see his son’s eyes darkening with a bleeding red color.

“-the Dark Lord,” Potter finished, after what felt like three years, “Malfoy. You have a _son?_ You told your son I was _dead?_ Why on _earth-_ ”

“Observant as ever Potter,” he snapped. “But why would I ever tell my son you were dead? Surely, I am not as idiotic as you are.”

Potter’s face reddened. “I’ll have you know, Malfoy, that-” Potter’s incessant squabbling was broken off by Scorpius’s high pitched scream. Draco looked down at his son, whose eyes were completely black now.

“Why, if it isn’t young Draco Malfoy,” Scorpius said, but in a voice that most definitely was not his, “Although now I see some time has passed. But fear… fear can, and always will, control you.”

Both Draco and Potter’s faces paled. The voice was Voldemort’s. The Dark Mark, usually a dormant nuisance on Draco’s left arm, squirmed into life, darkening and burning.

“Such a small price to pay. You son’s body and soul, for my return. Don’t you want that?” His son’s eyes- no, Voldemort’s eyes in his son’s body narrowed. “Or are you a traitor,” he condemned, noticing Potter, “hello, Harry, how nice to see you again.”

Potter shouted, hands moving to the famous scar, and dropped to his knees. Both Granger and Weasley rushed to his side, as if summoned by his pain. Draco was surprised to see that nobody else seemed to notice what was going on; the bustle of the platform was drowning out every sound of the ordeal. The Weaslette and the rest of the Potter family were also out of range; Draco could see them in the distance checking for their belongings before boarding the train.

“Scorpius,” he whispered, his full attention back on his son, “fight this. Fight _him_. You’re better than this. I know he must have been friendly when he came to you- Harry’s always been that way. But whoever you are seeing is _not Harry._ The real Harry kind and loving and brave, just like you.” He pulled his son’s face closer to his and looked into the eyes of Voldemort. “I love _you_ , Scorpius, and your mother does too. Tell him that. Tell him about how much you are loved.”

The collective jaws of the Golden Trio dropped.

“Come on, Scorpius,” he pleaded, “come back to me. You’re all I have left.” He didn’t realize he was crying until his tears were landing on Scorpius’s face. “I refuse to let him get to you like he got to the rest of us. I refuse to let you go. Astoria and I chose _you_ , damnit, so come back!”

After a few moments of a silent, piercing and suspenseful pause, the gold and silver eyes rolled back into his head.

“Dad,” he whispered, voice hinting at laughter, “Mum just punched Voldemort in the face.” He giggled, and the fact that he _could_ giggle at a time like this was so like Astoria’s final moments that Draco clung to his son and laughed with all the sincerity in his body.

“Thank gods. _There’s_ my sunshine son.” He kissed his blonde head.

Scorpius smiled and rolled his eyes. “Father, I have to go. I’ll write to you okay? OH! And did you see? I met the Minister of Magic! She had questions for me, can you contact her, Father? Please?”

Draco smiled, and despite the sick churning in his stomach, and the fact that Granger was only a few meters away, said “of course. Now, go get on that train. Punctuality is-”

“‘Imperative, at home, at school, and abroad.’ I know, I know. See you at winter holiday!” he called, already running off and hauling his things onto the coach, which a minute later, at promptly eleven o’clock, departed. The sight of an auburn haired girl chasing after the train is what snapped Draco back to reality.

He was sitting , crossed legged, in a lopsided oval with none other than the War heros themselves, who were still gaping at him. All four of them were only just now recieving weird glances, as the other adults began to exit the platform. They were in their way, after all.

The girl Weasley was rushing over to them, a grimace on her face. “Where have you been!” She shouted at the three of them. “Harry James Potter, I just had to see both of our children off, without you. Albus is never going to forget that. He was so worried, Harry, asking, ‘But Mum, really, if I’m sorted into Slytherin, will I be disowned?’ Honestly. James kept answering _yes, indeed_. I could have really used some help.”

“I hope you told him that there is nothing wrong with Slytherin House,” Draco said, standing up and brushing off his robes.

The Weaslette narrowed her eyes. “There’s plenty wrong with Slytherin House, Malfoy, and most of it has to do with _you_.”

“Ginny!” Granger scolded, standing up, “Get over yourself. All houses, as different as they may be, are equally respectable.”

“Yeah,” agreed Potter, who was helped to his feet by Granger, “I really hope you told Al that we would love him no matter what.”

“Excuse me, house unity is _fascinating_ ,” said Weasley, who was still sitting and apparently unable to process anything that had just happened, “But can we please talk about how Voldemort possessed a kid and we let him get on the train to Hogwarts?”

 


	2. The Additions to an Odd Old Family

Harry’s body was still pumping adrenaline. The burning in his scar was fading, but the weirdness of the situation wasn’t.

To say the least, he was flabbergasted. This was not the Malfoy he knew. The Malfoy he knew would have been a father the same way Lucius was: spoiling his child rotten, raising him to believe that he was better than everyone and everything else. The Malfoy he knew certainly wouldn’t allow his son to talk to a Muggleborn like Hermione. The Malfoy he knew would have gladly accepted the return of Voldemort at the expense of his son. The Malfoy he knew would _never_ go on a tirade about Harry’s heroism or how love conquers all evil.

And yet...

“I have no idea what you’re on about, Ronald,” Ginny snapped, “But I have a team to go coach. Since you four _obviously_ have so much to talk about without _me_ I’ll just drop Lily and Hugo off at Mum’s before I go. You can go get her whenever you’re finished, and I’ll see you at home, Harry.” and with that, she stormed over to where Lily- who was looking confused- and Hugo- who had glittery slime in his hair from the Wheezes he attempted to set off on the train- were standing, and apparated away without another word.

Harry sighed. Things had begun getting difficult with Ginny once James had started Hogwarts. The last time she had been this cold and distant was when she had to quit her position as Chaser for the Montrose Magpies when she got pregnant with James. But everything had gotten better quickly: Ginny got a job as a Quidditch reporter for the _Quibbler_ , which had gained much more popularity and credibility since the War ended. Last year she found a new job- and a right challenge-coaching the Chudley Cannons. This took up most of her time, because the Cannons were notorious for their awful team and losing streak.

Ron stood as she disapparated. “Seriously. It’s a little weird that Voldemort just took hold of Malfoy’s son. Don’t you guys think we should talk about this?”

Hermione nodded. “Definitely. Somewhere private, I’m sure Malfoy doesn’t want to talk about his son’s Gift in public.”

“We should go to the old headquarters,” Harry added in, “That way we’re all on neutral ground, and Malfoy won’t have to feel like we’re taking advantage by using our own turf.” _And so he can’t do any damage once he knows where we live,_ Harry’s brain helpfully supplied. But then again, would this Malfoy even care to damage their property?

“Excuse me,” came his drawling voice, “while everything you’ve said is quite true, Malfoy does not like being discussed as if he is not there. It reminds him far too much of his parents.”

Ron and Hermione looked as if they had just remembered that Malfoy was even there.

“Well,” said Hermione, glancing at Malfoy, “I’ll just- since I’m Secret- Keeper, Ron and I can apparate. We’ll see you there.” Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand, turned on the spot, and apparated halfway through Ron’s “and leave Harry here with-”

Malfoy just rolled his eyes and held his arm out to Harry. “Let’s go, Potter.”

Harry had half expected Malfoy to protest the situation and storm off on his own. “I- I uh, I hate apparating,” Harry admitted, “But I’m sure I can get us there in one piece.” He put his hand on his arm, feeling the expensive fabric of his robes on his palms.

“How reassuring,” Malfoy sneered, but Harry was already turning.

When their feet landed on pavement again, next to Ron and Hermione, Harry was pleased to see that despite the bile rising in his throat, neither him or Malfoy had been Splinched. Hermione, efficient as always, had already performed the incantation that pushed the townhouses aside, to reveal a large and rather brooding-looking-

“Number 12 Grimmauld Place?” Malfoy said loudly, “How do you know about this place?”

Ron, opening the gate and letting Hermione through, answered, “How in the bloody hell do _you_ know about it?” Harry went through, and gestured for Malfoy to follow. Ron stopped him. “This place has the strongest Fidelius Charm on it that I’ve ever seen!” he snarled.

Malfoy just pushed passed Ron and walked towards the door, catching up to Hermione. The front garden, which had been looking abysmal mere moments ago, brightened, and set itself straight as Malfoy passed.

By the time Harry and Ron were stepping up the front steps, the garden was flourishing.

“What in the bleeding name of Merlin is all this about,” murmured Ron, “has this ever happened before?”

“No,” answered Harry, who was amazed, eyeing the razor wing butterflies that were already fluttering over a row of rose bushes.

Hermione, unperturbed by the sudden revival of the garden, unlocked and opened the front door, leading the rest of them inside. The corridor was dusty and smelled of rot, but again, as Malfoy passed, it brightened and took on the scent of lemon zest. Before reaching the end of the hall, however, Malfoy broke off from the group and into a seemingly random room.

“Oi! Where you going, Malfoy? We’re not here for a tour!” shouted Ron.

“I don’t need a tour,” Malfoy called back. Ron shook his head, muttering something about prejudiced Purebloods doing whatever they want. Harry, however, followed Malfoy into the room.

It was the drawing room, where the expansive Black family tree extended across the wall. The room had brightened considerably, and smelled wonderful. Malfoy had his hand on one of the names, and looked lost in thought.

That’s when Harry remembered, _Narcissa was a Black. That’s why the house responds to him so well._

Malfoy jumped a little. It took Harry a second to realize that he had spoken out loud.

“Yes, I’m part of the Black family,” Harry was sure that Malfoy was mocking him, but his voice lacked the usual vitriol. Instead, it was soft. “This tree magically adds on members. Look,” he pointed, the faraway look on his face returning. Harry shuffled over to where Malfoy was standing to see what had him so dazed.

He was pointing at the name joined to his with a thin golden line. _Astoria Greengrass_ , it read, _1982-2005._

...Oh. Malfoy had a wife, of course. How else would he have acquired a son? Then Harry took notice that there was an end date.

“She died when Scorpius was born, as I’m sure you know.” Harry didn’t know. He refused to look at another _Prophet_ when the War ended. He knew that Rita Skeeter was allowed to continue writing for it, which really did it for him in the end. Malfoy’s hand trailed the line that formed a ‘T’ with the one that connected him and Astoria, landing on Scorpius’s name.

“Scorpius _Sharik_? What in the world does that mean?” Harry asked, before he could even think twice.

Malfoy chuckled, and said, “It means, ‘the one on whom the sun shines.’ I’ll tell you the story, but when you’re older.”

“When I’m- Malfoy! I’m 37!”

“How clever Potter, I’m so glad you’ve learned to count.”

Harry blushed a brilliant red, and Malfoy smirked. His attention, however, was on the black, burnt out names on the tapestry.

“I remember these,” he whispered.

Harry looked at part of the tapestry where Sirius’s name should have been. After all this time, it still made him angry. “We tried fixing them once, to no avail.”

“Well, this kind of thing can’t be fixed with a simple _Reparo_ cast by just anyone. This is old, family magic.”

“But Sirius tried once. It didn’t work for him, and he’s family.”

“Not according to this, he’s not,” said Malfoy, examining the crispy remains of Sirius’s name.

Harry fumed. “How _dare_ you-”

Malfoy cut him off with a hand. “As usual, you’re not listening, Potter. Even if he had used the right spell, which, no offense, is not likely, the old family magic was used to cut him out of the family. Therefore, the tapestry wouldn’t have recognized him. ” Malfoy looked thoughtful, tilting his head and putting his chin in his hand. “It would recognize mine though.”

Harry stepped in front of him at the same time Malfoy stepped closer to the tapestry. Their chests bumped, which Harry decided to ignore. He had to look up at Malfoy to speak to him, which he also decided to ignore.

“Look, Malfoy, if you try anything-”

“I’m sure you and your posse will open up an eighth circle of hell just for me, yes. I get it, Potter. Now, if you’ll please let me attempt to fix my family tree.” Malfoy’s voice was so full of humour and compassion that Harry felt compelled to assist Malfoy in any way possible. He stepped aside, trying to shake the feeling.

Malfoy placed a hand flat on the tapestry above Sirius’s name. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and a thick golden pool of magic began accumulating around his hand. Harry wondered if this was the old family magic Malfoy was talking about. “I welcome Sirius Black. Bring him back home.” His voice was firm.

The golden pool of magic sloshed around to the front of Malfoy’s hand, and began to seep into the tapestry. Once it was completely soaked up, the area glowed. Harry watched in awe as the tapestry mended itself

“He was your godfather?” Malfoy asked. Harry followed Malfoy’s eyeline until he was looking at a dotted golden line connecting to his own name. _Harry James Potter, 1980-_.

Harry struggled to blink back tears. He found himself unable to answer as new lines and names were formed, adding Ginny, James, Albus, and Lily to the tree.

Malfoy moved on to another dark spot, repeating the same magical process. “I welcome Andromeda Tonks. Bring her home, her sister misses her very much.”

When Andromeda’s name appeared, so did Ted’s. Nymphadora Tonks was added, connected to Remus Lupin. Lastly came Teddy Lupin, which spawned a new dotted line connecting him to Harry.

Though Harry was delighted to be included as Sirius’s family, and intrigued by the proclamation that Narcissa missed her sister, he couldn’t help but notice that the tapestry now looked cramped and slightly messy with the tangle of new golden lines. He also felt bad for the other names that were burnt out, which Malfoy was now contemplating.

“I can recite everyone’s name, house, and occupation from both sides of my family trees, but I was never taught anything about the so-called ‘traitors.’ I don’t know their names, so I can’t call them back personally,” Malfoy lamented, making air quotes with his fingers. “But maybe I can…” He trailed off, walking towards a corner of the room past the doorway, where the base of the family tree sat. He went to his knees, putting both hands where the roots of the tree were. Thick golden magic began to pool again, but this time, did not stop as it was absorbed by the tree’s roots.

“I welcome my entire family home, to the new era, where there is no prejudice and no hate between us. Let us be bound by the fierce love and loyalty we all have towards the Black family.”

As he said the words, the family tree let out an audible groan. The golden magic being absorbed was spreading across the golden lines that were its branches, filling in the missing spots. As the missing names were restored, new ones sprouted from them. The tree let out a sound that was impossibly wooden, and the entire tapestry began to spread out across all four walls of the room, golden magic following in its wake, creating more and more names as it went.

Malfoy pulled his hands off of the tapestry and turned so that he was sitting with his back to the roots of the tree, legs extended out before him. He looked pleased with his work, if a little worn out. Harry walked towards him and dropped to the floor. It really was the best place to admire the entire room. If he were to ever furnish it, there should be a huge, comfy chair right in this spot. Ron and Hermione came walking in.

“What was that noise?” Hermione inquired. “And what have you been up to?”

“Yeah, we’ve been waiting in the kitchen for ages. And there’s nothing to eat. Well- that is, neither the refrigerator or pantry will open. Wait a second- is that my name on that wall over there? And Hermione’s? What did you two _do?_ ”

“They mended the tapestry,” Hermione answered in a soft voice. “You must be distantly related to the Black family. Oh, Rose and Hugo are up there too, how lovely.” She walked over to the wall and reached up to touch her family’s names.

“It was all Malfoy. Give him the credit, I just stood around in awe the entire time.”

“Right you did,” agreed Malfoy, standing up, “but now that it’s mended, if it ever needs fixing again, you can do it. Any of you can, really- wait, maybe not you, Hermione. But the house will respond to anyone on this tapestry now, which apparently includes your entire family, Weasley. It seems we might be related.” He turned to give Ron a cheeky grin, but Ron just looked disgusted.

“Why wouldn’t Hermione be able to mend the tapestry, Malfoy?”

Malfoy flushed and stared at his feet. Harry stood up, and balled his fists at his sides. “Are you really still prejudiced after all you’ve just said? Was that all just words to you? I thought, for a moment, you were different. But you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Harry spat.

Malfoy shook his head, but said nothing, and continued looking at the floor. Harry thought he was surely bowing his head in shame, until Hermione went to Malfoy’s side and spoke.

“No, he’s right.”

Ron and Harry just stared at her.

“Muggleborns can’t control or tap into Wild magic the same way that other wizards can,” she continued, “I don’t really understand how it works- but that’s just the point. I could never understand.”

“But that doesn’t mean he has to act that way about it!” Ron argued.

“What way? Staring at his feet because he knows he shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place?”

“He obviously thinks that you can’t do advanced magic-”

“No, he doesn’t. He might be a Slytherin, Ron, but Malfoy isn’t stupid.” Ron opened his mouth to object, but Hermione cut him off with a glare. “I’m not stupid either. I went really in depth with this topic because it was the only thing I couldn’t grasp. From what I gathered, it's hard for anyone to control Wild magic at all these days. Its an uncommon capability. Yes, it's more condensed in Pureblood families, but that’s just because they don’t marry outside their circles, so the ability is more likely to be passed down.” She smiled, and tentatively put her hand on Malfoy’s arm. “Come on, then. Wild magic is uncommon and interesting, but Seeing is even more rare and fascinating.”

Malfoy looked at her, giving her a closed lipped grin. “Thank you, Granger, for digging me out of that hole.”

She pulled him towards the doorway. “Its Granger-Weasley now, actually. You can just call me Hermione, Draco.”

He stopped at the doorway, giving her an odd look. “What?” she asked.

“It just… sounds funny, hearing you say my name, Hermione.” He offered her his arm.

“Oh dear, it does sound rather odd, I know what you mean,” she agreed, and took his arm, giggling. Harry noticed that the hallway brightened even more, and the smell of citrus assaulted him.

“What in the bloody hell just happened?” asked Ron.

“Mate, I have no clue,” Harry responded.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

“So, Draco, now that we’re all comfortable, tell us about your son.”

They were comfortable indeed: when they entered the kitchen, they found it to be well lit and tidy as possible. There were four place settings at the table, each with a glass of aged Ogden's Finest. Harry wanted to walk around the house a bit more, to watch it change before his very eyes, all due to the simple fact that he was part of this family now, but he knew the issue of Voldemort was more pressing.

Malfoy set his glass down. He was still Malfoy to Harry and Ron. They were not a part of the exclusive friendship that Hermione had set up before their very eyes. “My son is a Seer. I don’t know much about Divination, mind, but I’m fairly sure he’s the most powerful Seer to ever exist.”

“How many prophesies has he made?” wondered Harry.

“Potter, that’s not how it works. Prophecies are really rather rare.”

Harry thought about the Department of Mysteries, and its stacked shelves and rows upon rows of glowing Prophecies.

“I know what you’re thinking about, but those have been accumulated since Seers first started existing. There’s no way to gage how long ago that even was. If you went back now, the room would be empty.”

“Are you talking about the Hall of Prophecies in the Department of Mysteries? Why would it be empty?” asked Ron.

“Weasley, please tell me you can answer that question for yourself.” When he couldn’t, Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh. “There haven't been any new Prophecies since our fifth year, when the entire room was destroyed. That’s why it’s empty. Surely you remember now?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all blushed. The destruction was there fault, of course, along with Voldemort and his cronies, one of whom included Lucius Malfoy.

“But that doesn’t matter, anyway,” Malfoy said, waving away at the air as if that night hadn’t changed his course in history, “My son can do loads more impressive things. He can see anyone’s past as clearly as their future. He knows what could have happened if your past choices were different. And, he can speak to dead people.”

Ron slapped his forehead. “Of course! He’s the one who went to George about Fred! How could I have forgotten? You were there too!” Ron shook his head. “That visitation had George going for weeks, but he made me promise not to tell anyone,” he said, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione, “I think he got some really good closure from it though. Whatever it was, it was probably for the best.” He sighed.

Harry was still trying to process  this information when Hermione said, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.” Harry agreed.

“Well it was a little odd, wasn’t it? Malfoy busted into our shop like he owned it, but looked about ready to cry, and his son was all but unconscious! How often do _you_ guys see people who can talk to the dead?”

“As a matter of fact, almost every day!” Hermione argued, gesturing to Harry.

“Hermione, cut it out. It only happened, like, twice, and I don’t want to talk about it in front of…” Harry looked at Malfoy, whose eyebrows were raised.

“I disagree, Potter. I think you _should_ talk about it in front of me. It might explain why Scorpius was seeing one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes as you.”

Harry blustered. Hermione gasped. Ron questioned, “Your kid’s name is _Scorpius?_ Pretentious as ever, Malfoy.”  
“I’ll have you know, my son named himself,” Malfoy snapped.

“How did that happen, Draco?”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted, “but can we go back to the fact that Malfoy knows about Horcruxes?”

But Malfoy was already answering Hermione’s question. “Scorpius had a vision of his future while he was still in Astoria's womb,” he elaborated, “she saw it, and showed it to me via _Legilimens_.”

“That must have been how you chose,” Hermione whispered, moving her hand to place it on top of his. She looked sympathetic. “Draco, I am so sorry.” He looked away.

“Chose what?” Harry asked, Horcruxes completely forgotten. Hermione and Ron turned to him.

“I’d forgotten that you didn’t get the _Prophet_ , mate,” started Ron, “Malfoy had to choose whether to keep his wife or child alive when she was in labor.”

“You had to _choose?_ Malfoy, that’s absolutely terrible,” he said accusingly.

“Oh Harry, get over yourself! You think it was his fault?” Hermione shook her head. When he risked a glance at Malfoy, he noticed a single tear falling down his cheekbone. Malfoy’s face was stony and emotionless otherwise, but it was clear there was remorse.

“I- I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Harry said, ashamed, “I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“Let’s not act as if you didn’t have reasons to assume,” said Malfoy harshly, wiping his cheek with the heel of his hand, and turning so that he was facing everyone at the table, “there are more important things to talk about right now. Voldemort’s Horcruxes, for example.”  

“How did you figure it out?” Ron wondered.

“Well, I do read.”

“But I banned Dark Magic books from public libraries!”

“I can assure you that the Malfoy Library is quite private. And between Scorpius and I, I’m fairly sure we’ve only covered about half of it.”

Harry stayed quiet. He never guessed that Malfoy was actually intelligent. The surprises, it seemed would never cease.

“But why would you waste time on Dark Arts books? Unless you planned on using the magic,” said Ron, squinting at Malfoy.

Malfoy fumed. “I couldn’t exactly read book on fairies and unicorns and the power of friendship, could I?” He glared at Ron. “Voldemort _slept_ in the room _across the hall_ from me! You’ve got to be joking.”  
He looked up at the ceiling, as if he was praying for strength. “And we were at _war._ You shouldn't be surprised that I may have thought of using it.”

Ron crossed his arms and scoffed. “Well, _we_ certainly didn’t.”  
“Ronald, I went through every Dark Arts book I could get my hands on,” Hermione reasoned, coming to Malfoy’s defense. “Harry had Snape’s awful potions book in sixth year. And you were the one who suggested we kill the Death Eaters that we ended up Obliviating.”

“Dolohov and Rowle? _You_ obliviated them?”

“Well, we couldn’t just have them running off and ruining our plans. It was definitely a better alternative to _death_.”

“No, Granger, it wasn’t,” snapped Malfoy, who was getting alarmingly red. His hands were gripping the armrests of his chair, knuckles white, and he was halfway out of his seat.

“They were both tortured in front of their families. The Dark Lord thought it might jog their memories.” He shook his head. “It was terrible. Dolohov had twin girls, about 6 years old. Orphaned, now. They were old enough to remember.” Malfoy stood up and turned around, shoving his hands in his robe pockets.

That’s when Harry remembered the vision that had come to him through Voldemort, almost 20 years ago. And just _who_ it was torturing them.

“It’s not Hermione’s fault he joined the Death Eaters-”

“Ron, honestly, do shut up.” Harry stated, and his voice was so stern that Ron closed his mouth.

Malfoy turned around, eyes closed and hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We really went off on a tangent there,” Harry started apologetically, but stopped when Malfoy held up a hand.

“I can’t- I can’t do this right now. I’ll...” he opened his eyes and glanced around at them. Harry felt awful that they had driven him away like this. “...be in touch. Maybe. Potter,” he said, nodding his head, and swept out of the room. His robes made an audible _swish_ , reminding Harry of the way Snape used to walk about. He wanted to drag him back into the room to explain about the Horcruxes, and his son, and whatever became of the Dolohov twins, but Malfoy was already gone.

“We really messed that one up,” he said instead. Hermione sighed in agreement.

“It’s weird though,” she assessed, “Draco acknowledged that we didn’t have any reasons to trust him. He must actually feel terrible about what happened during the War.”

“But he _chose_ to do all that stuff. Feeling sorry for himself doesn’t make his actions okay,” Ron said.

“To what extent was it his choice though?” Harry found himself wondering out loud. “And he obviously feels sorry for other people. Did you hear the way he spoke about the twins?” Harry shook his head and faced his friends. “He was forced to torture Dolohov, under the guise that the same would happen to him and his mother if he didn’t. I saw it in one of my visions.” Hermione covered her mouth with her hand and looked away. Ron blushed and looked down at his lap.

“I’ll go see him tomorrow,” Harry decided. “Alone. Now, don’t we have children that have just gotten sorted? Neville’s owls are probably waiting at our homes already.” He tried for a grin, which grew when Ron and Hermione’s faces lit up.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

After apparating home from Molly’s house arm in arm with Lily, Harry opened the door to find his wife drinking wine on the couch and looking flustered.

“Albus was sorted into Slytherin,” Ginny lamented into her glass.

Lily raised her eyebrows, and looked between her parents. “She’s all yours dad,” she mumbled, dropping his arm and proceeding upstairs to her bedroom.

“There’s nothing wrong-”

“ _And_ befriended a certain Scorpius Malfoy on the train. His letter is filled with _Scorpius this_ and _Scorpius that_ and ‘Mum, Scorpius told me that you were going to lose your game today because your Seeker’s broom would fail. Tough luck, but he says you’ll get them next time.’” She looked at her husband expectantly.

“Er… I’m glad he’s made friends so quickly?” He wasn’t quite sure what Ginny wanted him to say.

“Honestly Harry!” Ginny threw her hands up in the air. “Slytherin? Malfoy? Next he’ll write about a new tattoo.”

“Oh, come on Ginny, it’s not as though _Scorpius_ took the Dark Mark.”

Ginny scrunched her face up in a way that told Harry she was thinking about this as a possibility. She got up and went to the kitchen. Harry trailed behind her, scoffing and shaking his head, making a mental note to keep track of her wine consumption. “Harry, I’m sure you can see why this is bothering me,” she said, refilling her glass.

“Actually, I can’t, love.” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Slytherin house has just gained a tremendous wizard.”

Ginny backed away from him to put the wine back into the refrigerator. “Harry, he only just started showing signs of magic. James and Lily’s started when they were _five_. Slytherin house is going to tear him to pieces.”

“Not if he has a friend in Scorpius,” Harry argued. “Who’s been showing magical signs since he was in the womb, not that it matters. He’s a Seer, as it happens; that’s how he knew about your loss. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Ginny looked unimpressed, and scoffed. “And who _knows_ how much Dark Magic was poured into his creation. The _Prophet_ wrote an article about how Astoria wasn’t supposed to be able to have children.”

“When have we ever believed the _Prophet_ , Ginny?”

“When have you ever defended Malfoy, Harry? Have you forgotten what his father did to me? What the Death Eaters did to my family?” she countered, her chin beginning to wobble.

“ _Our_ family now, Gin, and how could I forget? Lucius has tried to kill me several times too. But Malfoy’s not his father, and neither is his son.” He pulled her into his arms. After a moment, she leaned into his embrace.

“I’m just worried for him…”

“I know, but have a little more faith in him, yeah? He needs it.” Harry knew they were talking about his son Albus, but he felt that his words applied to Malfoy too, in an odd way.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

“Thank you for doing this, Seamus.”

“It’s no problem, just keep it between us, alright? I doubt anyone would care, you are _you_ , after all, but I happen to like this job, so…”

Harry laughed. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

Seamus smiled, and handed Harry a stack of files. “It’s been too long, mate. We need to have a pub night soon. Better yet, a Dumbledore’s Army reunion!”

He clapped Seamus on the back. “That’s a great idea! Get it set up, and I’ll be there. Thanks again for these files. I’ll just leave them on the desk when I’m done, yeah?”

Seamus nodded and headed out the door. Harry sighed. He was getting too old for all of that energy.

He glanced at the files in his hands and sat down at the desk, spreading them across the surface. The one labeled DOLOHOV was thicker than the one labeled MALFOY, to Harry’s surprise.

He had decided he wanted to know what happened to those twins. And if he couldn’t find anything bad from recent times against Malfoy, then he would be able to put Ginny’s mind at rest. He and Malfoy were meeting at a small Muggle pub in Wiltshire later that day, and he thought he could ease Malfoy’s conscious by giving him good news about the girls.

Harry was dreadfully wrong.

Both Aneta and Noemi Dolohov had found their way into a Muggle prostitution ring in Czech Republic by the time they were 15. Some clippings from a Muggle newspaper detail the finding of a strange, undocumented girl of 19 years lying dead from an overdose on the floor of her run down apartment, blood trickling out of her nose. The article date was circled with read pen, and the annotation on the side read, ‘Aneta, found dead, 2010’.  Feeling sick and slightly discouraged, Harry shuffled the pages to look for what happened to Noemi.

As it turns out, Noemi was kidnapped by her pimp shortly after her sister’s death and taken back to England, where he forced her to do his bidding. He had been arrested last year when Noemi was found, beaten to death in their home. Their infant daughter, who has no known name, was sent to an orphanage. The file also mentions that the kidnapper died in a prison fight.

Neither sister had lived past 25. And somewhere in England, there was a magical, orphaned baby. Bile rose in Harry’s throat.

Willing himself not to vomit everywhere, he concluded that he needed a very strong drink to settle down.

Harry left for the pub early, leaving Malfoy’s file on the desk, untouched.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

He found Malfoy already sitting at the bar, _wearing Muggle clothes_.

He had on expensive jeans and black Doc Martens with a matching long sleeved cotton t-shirt. His long, silver blonde hair was pulled up in a black leather band. The dark clothes made such a sharp contrast that Malfoy was practically glowing. The scar that creeped up his neck from under his shirt and the expressionless face, however, gave off the respect-me-but-don’t-talk-to-me vibe.

Malfoy looked _fashionable,_ damn him.

He looked up from his brooding position, a surprised expression coming over his face. “I didn’t expect you to be this early, Potter.”

Harry cleared his throat, yanking himself out of the his trance. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard that punctuality is- er, imperative?” Harry faltered. He didn’t know why he was trying to be funny.

But Malfoy laughed. “At home, at school, and abroad,” he finished. “Merlin Potter, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“No, not many ghosts around here,” he answered, trying, but failing, to keep his face from betraying his emotions.

“Alright, tell me. What was it?” Malfoy pushed a neat whiskey towards him. Harry raised his eyebrows. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ve got more money than you could shake a Bowtruckle at, and this is going to be a difficult conversation. Whiskey might make it easier. Now, what brings you here so early and disturbed?” Malfoy sipped at his drink.

“I don’t think that’s a good topic to start with,” Harry admitted.

“Potter, with our history, there is no good topic to start with.”

“I dunno, the weather was pretty nice today.”

“Oh, honestly. The weather? How mundane. Stop evading my question.”

Harry took a larger swig of his drink than completely necessary. Here it goes. “I was really curious to find out what happened to the Dolohov twins.”

“Fuck Potter,” Malfoy said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “I thought you were going to tell me how you became a Horcrux or something. I really don’t want to talk about-”

“I know what happened,” Harry said in a rush, feeling like it was only fair that Malfoy knew what he knew. “The Horcrux was still inside of me then, I could see through his eyes when he was really angry.”  
Malfoy looked as if he’d just been hit by a Bludger. Pained, and white as a sheet, his voice came out weak, “I’m not proud of it. And I know what happened to the girls… dead, both of them, and so young. The life they lived is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.” He finished his drink and signaled for another.

“And the baby,” Harry added, “the last time that I knew of a magical child being raised in an orphanage, he became the biggest threat to society since Grindelwald.”

A shadow passed over Malfoy’s face, and he looked down at his hands. “I think she’ll find a good family before it’s too late. Infants always go the quickest in those homes, you know.” He looked away.

Harry was moved by Malfoy’s optimistic outlook. “You’re right,” he said earnestly.

Malfoy looked up, and the corner of his mouth twitched. He raised his glass, and toasted, “Here here, Harry Potter just said I was right. Quick, put it in the history books before it’s forgotten!”

Harry smiled. “About those Horcruxes though, Malfoy. Can you tell me- well, everything? It was supposed to be a secret. Only Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione and I knew about it. You see, that was one of the reasons we couldn’t go back to school. We had to destroy them first because that was the only way to finish him off.”

“With what I knew about Dark Magic, it was easy to put together,” Malfoy admitted, “especially when Scorpius claimed to have seen you. My mother said you did actually die in the forest- that she actually saw your aura of power go out for a while, while Voldemort’s flickered about.” He sipped more of his drink, and continued, “That wouldn’t make any sense, otherwise. The only explanation is Horcruxes. I assume he had more than one, correct? And the one in you couldn’t have been on purpose.”

“Yeah, there were seven in total. The one in me happened when he tried killing me- my mother’s love saved me. The curse rebounded and hit him, but he was barely human, so a piece of his soul latched onto me.”

Malfoy looked thoughtful. “Love is the most powerful magic in the universe,” he said, and it wasn’t even sarcastic. They both took long drinks of their whiskey. Just when Harry was thanking his lucky stars for such a blissfully short Horcrux conversation, Malfoy broke the silence by deadpanning, “that fucking snake.”

“Yeah.”

“And that nasty cup that made ear-splitting noises in my bitch-aunt’s vault. But that fucking snake- Nagini. Oh good gods.” Malfoy’s silver eyes were as large as moons. “Potter, that beast _ate_ people.”

“Yeah…”

“Cheers to Neville,” Malfoy said pointedly, lifting his glass, “May he live long and prosper.”

Harry clinked their glasses together, and almost choked when he realized that Malfoy just quoted _Star Trek_.

Malfoy, the git, just looked smug. “What, Potter? Am I not allowed to see Muggle movies?” he looked at his hand that wasn’t holding a drink and frowned. “I still can’t do the hand thing, though.”

Harry thought maybe they were both a bit tipsy already. Because that was the only way to explain why he reached over, took Malfoy’s hand in his, and spread his fingers out to match the famous Vulcan salute. His fingers were pale and slender, but warmer than they looked. “It’s like that, see?” Harry said. He looked up, and immediately regretted it. Malfoy’s eyebrows were so high on his forehead they threatened to disappear into his hairline.

Harry blushed from his neck to his cheeks and snatched his hand away, frantically taking a swig of his drink, only to find that the glass was empty. Malfoy beckoned the bartender.

“Excuse me sir, but do keep them coming,” he pointed a thumb at Harry and dropped his voice to a mock whisper, “This one’s a lightweight which could make for a _very_ interesting night.” The bartender smirked and went to retrieve their drinks.

Malfoy looked fondly over at Harry. “I tire of talking about our terrible pasts, Potter. Drinks are on me- would you like to stay a bit longer?”

He did.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

Thus, pub nights were established. For the most part, it was a weekly occasion, and often sported a wide variety of people, if it were not just him and Malfoy.

Ron and Hermione were the most likely to show up. Neville had joined on occasion, the first of which Malfoy had shaken his hand and fervently thanked him for killing Nagini. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini came once, upon Malfoy’s request, to celebrate their recent engagement.

On their arrival, Malfoy had cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Parkinson. She gave a dramatic sigh, and sauntered her way over to Harry.

“Sorry I tried to hand you over to old Snakeface, I guess,” she said, alternating between eyeing her fingernails and looking at Harry’s red jumper with distaste.

Harry had just said, “Erm… it’s okay.”

“Really?” she quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward, amused. “Because I would do it again.”

Harry was taken aback, at a loss for words, when Zabini leaned in and said smartly, “Ah, Potter, see this is the danger of saying ‘it’s okay.’Just accept the apology and moved on.” With that, he grabbed his wife to be by the shoulders and sweetly showed her to the bar to buy them drinks. Malfoy, who had facepalmed at Parkinson’s predictable Slytherin attitude, peaked at Harry through his fingers when they left. And they both burst into laughter.

Their nights at the pub, however, were not always so full of cheer. Ginny constantly complained to Harry about being purposefully left out, which often led to fights about Ginny’s absence due to Quidditch and Harry’s lack of a job.

“We always invite you! But you hate Malfoy too much to- no don’t even roll your eyes at me!”

“Harry, I’m just tired!”

“Don’t give me that crap excuse. If you really care this much about joining us on pub nights, tiredness wouldn’t be an issue!”

“How would you know? You don’t even have a job!”

They would usually take circles like that. He hardly shared about his marriage with Malfoy, but after a particularly nasty fight, he found himself very much needing to blow off steam. Malfoy listened, frowned, and nodded throughout the whole thing. He only spoke when Harry finished.

“Why would you need a job? You have the Black vault, don’t you?” at Harry’s nod, he added, “not to mention, you’ve done enough good work and had enough stress for a lifetime. It’s obvious your priority was giving your kids a great childhood, and there’s no shame in that.”

Harry had looked at Malfoy like he was seeing him for the first time.

“What? Potter, you’re staring again.” Harry couldn’t help but notice the rosy flush om Malfoy's cheeks. He didn’t think it was the alcohol, either.

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

The summer before Albus’s second year is when Harry’s marriage got as bad as it could get.

The whole Potter family had just returned home from Diagon Alley, each one of them admiring Lily’s lovely new wand, one of the first to be made and sold by Ollivander's son, Alden.

As the kids ran upstairs to compare school supplies, Ginny said tentatively, “Harry, we need to talk.”

He smiled at her warmly.

She looked serious as she said, in a rush, “the Argentinian National Team offered me a position as a Chaser on their team. I took it. I hate the bloody Chudley Cannons.”

Harry’s bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“They’re asking me to move to Buenos Aires.”

“But Ginny, the kids…”

“Will be at Hogwarts all year.”

Harry was still confused. How could Ginny just leave their family, England, _everything_ behind at the drop of a hat?

“I’m… not really asking you to come with me either,” she admitted. She looked away from him, and swallowed thickly. “Without the children, we don’t have that much in common, anymore.”

“ _What_?”

“I guess,” she turned back and met his eyes, “what I’m trying to say is- is.” Whatever it was, she couldn’t seem to say it.

Good thing, then, that Harry wasn’t as stupid and unobservant as most believed him to be. “You want a divorce,” he deadpanned.

Ginny nodded.

After a moment, she said, as though she was out of breath, “You don’t understand. I was starting to despise them again. The children. I see them, now, and all I can think about is how good my life would be if they weren’t in it. Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly when Harry guffawed, “I love them, of course. But don’t you see, that’s why I have to take this opportunity. I have to go so I won’t blame it on them. It’s not fair to any of us, the way things are right now.”

“Um,” was all Harry could really say. He was astonished to find that he agreed, that Ginny _should_ leave, if she was going to treat his children without the respect that they deserved.

“I’ll go with you to see them off tomorrow,” she offered.

“Honestly Ginny? I’m so angry with you, I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

 

\---☼☼☼---

 

“And you know what, Malfoy? She looked fucking _relieved_.”

“And then?”

“We talked to the kids. They were upset, obviously, but they all shared these… looks, you know, between each other, like they understood something beyond us. They went to bed, and Ginny packed her stuff, and just… then she just left,” said Harry sadly, looking down into his fifth- no, sixth glass of whiskey.

Malfoy had shown up to the platform that afternoon looking concerned. After the kids had boarded, Malfoy reached Harry before either Ron or Hermione or any of his adoring fans could, and whispered into his ear, “Emergency pub day, Scorpius told me everything. Hang on.” And apparated them both to a bar, immediately calling for bottomless neat whiskeys. Though they were getting weird stares from the Muggle patrons, due to the fact that they were still in full Wizarding robes, Harry reckoned that as a pair they probably looked really neat if a bit outlandish. Malfoy looked tidy, anyway, long hair pulled up in blue ribbon and robes that cascaded with the color and essence of a waterfall down his tall, thin frame…

Perhaps he was on his _seventh_ whiskey.

“Left. To Buenos Aires.”

“Yes.”

“Harry,” Malfoy said softly, using his given name for the first time in… ever. For the first time ever. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Harry just sniffed, trying, and failing, to blink back tears.

“To be honest, though, she doesn’t deserve you.”

 _That_ got Harry’s attention. Malfoy gave him a small smile. He continued, “If she isn’t going to give you and your children every ounce of the affection you all deserve, then… good riddance. Forgive my bluntness.”

Harry found himself at a loss for words for the second time in two days.

He swallowed the rest of his drink, and tried to begin again. “I think the worst part of the whole situation is that though I can’t relate to it, I understand what she was saying. Especially about how the kids kept us together. I knew we haven’t been doing as well as before, with them being gone at Hogwarts and all, but how can anyone expect the worst possible scenario?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow before he looked away. “I don’t think… I mean, this is hardly the _worst_  case scenario. But- but I do know what you mean.” He finished his drink.

“Ah fuck Malfoy, I forgot,” said Harry, as genuinely as he could while becoming inebriated, “I feel like a right tit complaining about a divorce when you-”

“It’s quite alright. I’ve made my peace with Astoria’s passing.”

“How?” Harry winced at the directness of his own question. “I only mean- well, the War was twenty years ago and that still hurts.”

“Scorpius can talk to her, you know. Wherever she is, she’s happy-”

“King’s Cross Station,” Harry interrupted dreamily, remembering his own death landscape, and at Malfoy’s questioning look, he went on, “fuck, I am _so_ drunk. Please, ignore me and continue.”

“She’s happy,” he restated firmly, “And, well, there was never any romantic love between us, so I suppose that simplifies some things. Still, she is the mother of my son…”

“No romantic love? Then why the hell did you two get married?” Harry asked.

“It was arranged and advantageous for the both of us. We both knew we couldn’t really find what we were looking and please our parents at the same time, and we also conceded on the desperate want for children, which in the end sealed the deal.”

“What do you mean, neither of you could find what you were looking for?”

Malfoy just smirked and beckoned for more drinks. When they came, he took a sip of his own and said, “Potter. Astoria and I are both flaming homosexuals.”

Harry gaped. And sputtered. And tried really hard to not make himself look like an utter fool, but Malfoy was already laughing.

“Oh gods, the look on your face!” he said pointing and holding his belly with another. He wiped one of his eyes with a finger, giving the appearance of someone flicking off a tear. “Priceless,” he finished, grinning.

“Are you having me on?” Harry demanded.

“Afraid not, Potter.”

Harry regarded Malfoy for a moment, and decided he didn’t care one bit. And why would he? With a smile and a laugh like that, Malfoy could convince him of anything.

 _Merlin_ , was he drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I forgot to mention before that I don't own any of these characters, in case it wasn't obvious.  
> -CREDIT TO THE PUB SCENE BETWEEN HARRY AND PANSY all goes to a beautiful drawing by sadfishkid on tumblr. Check it out!  
> -I created a timeline, because dates are confusing, and the parts I want to delve into are going to be in the future not the past (meaning that it's only 2016, and eventually I'll be writing the characters in year 2019.) Here's the link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wNJDbTM8uholi5UiH3arkhIdlwAQ6lNBsHVFM1RK2LY/edit?usp=sharing  
> -Fair warning, I really love everything to do with the magical side of HP. Expect scenes similar to the tapestry one often. Making up your own magical theory is awesome!  
> -Don't forget to comment and/or leave kudos! You were all so wonderful about my last chapter. Thank you! =D


	3. Prophesies, Potter, and Planes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry. There are not enough excuses in the world for why this is so late: my sister is the one who bullied me into getting this chaper up. Thanks again Slytherdick. 
> 
> MORE IMPORTANTLY: if you've already read the first to chapters and are back and ready for more, I'm very sorry but you're going to have to go back and read chapter 2. If you don't, this one might seem a little weird. I made some pretty big changes. 
> 
> Also, please forgive me but Durmstrang in this fic is in Russia for the sake of the WWI and II Allies (that will make sense once you read this chapter).

It was the summer between Scorpius’s second and third year when the letter arrived. 

Scorpius’s school list was delivered, as usual, by an owl. But this time, the owl had two letters tied to either of its legs. It was a funny picture, and Scorpius laughed when he saw the owl fly into the dining room through the open window. 

Scorpius, the biggest geek Draco had ever known, was quick to reach out for his new supplies list with the eagerness of a toddler at Christmas. When his hand came into contact with the letter, however, he drew his hand back quickly, as if the envelope had burned him. Draco almost panicked, until he saw his son’s eyes go misty. He assumed he was just having another vision. 

Suddenly, Scorpius grabbed his arm in a death grip, and spoke in a voice that Draco had never heard before, an odd silvery smoke pouring out of his mouth with every word: 

“ _ When serpents and stags cross the pond, when four champion for glory, only then will those of bad faith be celebrated with honor by the sunshine of the stars.”  _

The swirling whispers were condensing and forming a tightly packed sphere on the dining table. It set itself at the mouth of an empty vase, granting itself it’s own pedestal. Draco and Scorpius watched together as the sphere solidified while the mist continued to mix and move within, whispering all the while. 

And then, Scorpius slumped forward and passed out.

This should have caused Draco some alarm. But he felt so in tune with what just happened, that he could understand his son’s exhaustion. 

His son, at the age of 13, had just made a full, glowing prophecy. Pride was welling in Draco’s chest as he carried- thank Merlin for the feather light charm- Scorpius upstairs and to his room. Once on the bed, Draco sat next to him, stroking the hair kissed by sunlight, before leaving him with a soft kiss on the forehead. There was, after all, a letter and a prophecy waiting for him downstairs. 

The letter, however, didn’t please him at all. He swore loudly upon finishing it, and threw it back onto the dinner table. It landed face up, the folded edges standing up a bit. Draco stared at it, as if that would make the reality of it all disappear. 

_ To Draco Malfoy, father of Scorpius Malfoy and Lord of Malfoy Manor, _

_ This start of term marks the beginning of an exciting new adventure for the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  _

_ Over the summer, the Ministry of Magic received an invitation from the President of the United States, an ambitious Wizard, to a tournament not unlike the Tri-Wizard Tournament held in Europe in previous decades. He wishes to strengthen the bond between the Allies of past times and provide entertainment for all those involved. The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute will also be joining us on our journey to San Diego, where the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be located specifically for this tournament.  He is calling it: The Tournament of Allies.  _

_ The President will be providing lodgings and food for every single student of all four schools. The four schools will stay in four respective hotels, which have enough space for everybody and are magically modified to have classrooms for the time being. Their education will proceed as usual, with just the Tournament and the location being the differences.  _

_ Of course, after the tragedies of previous Tournaments, there will be extra security and staff to be sure of the student’s safety. To enter in the Tournament, a student must be 16 years of age or older. The Ministry of Magic as well as the Magical Congress of the United States of America have been working closely together to work on the three themed tasks the champions will be facing, each one focusing on the challenge of the body, challenge of the mind, and challenge of the soul. Though these might prove difficult, in no way should they compromise the champion’s mortality. The four champions will show their skill and magical prowess by accomplishing these tasks and winning points. The champion who wins the Tournament shall receive 500,000 American dollars and a crown to commemorate the experience.  _

_ Please notify your student of the Tournament, and be sure to tell them what an amazing event it is sure be.  _

_ Thank you,  _

_ Cormac McLaggan, _

_ Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation _

 

_ P.S. If you are a parent or guardian who wishes to attend the Tournament of Allies, you are responsible for providing your own room, transportation, food, and any other services. In addition, please notify Headmistress Minerva McGonagall by owl of your attendance.  _

 

Draco cursed again, still vehemently pissed off. How could Hermione- who was, in comparison to all the other buffoons in the Ministry, an ethereal goddess of wisdom- let this kind of thing pass? In what world was Hermione Granger’s judgement this poor? And Headmistress McGonagall- how could she let this happen?

He looked around the room, trying not to throw a tantrum like he might have done if he was younger. His eyes caught on the fireplace. Without thinking twice, he strode over to it, wrenched Floo powder out of a small, now swinging cauldron, and yelled, “Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts!”

Green flames shot up and around his body as the room spinned. He closed his eyes, then opened them to find the green flames receding, and the room before him changed.

Though the Headmaster’s office had always given him an intense feel of anxiety, it was nothing compared to the harsh rage he was currently in. McGonagall was in the middle of the circular room, staring at her unannounced guest standing in the fireplace. Draco glanced up and noted with some relief that neither Severus nor Dumbledore were in their frames. In fact, the rest of the portraits seem to be dozing off. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” came McGonagall's aged voice, “I was not expecting you. Please, come sit down.” She gestured to the chair in front of her. 

“I think I’m a little too hacked off to sit, thanks,” he snapped, completely aware that McGonagall was not actually the source of his anger. He did it anyway because he couldn’t bare to contain it within himself. 

McGonagall, the terrifying woman, just raised her eyebrows, challenging his misplaced temper. Her hand was still gesturing to the seat, and her expression pretty much told him he didn’t have a choice, lest he be kicked out. 

He stomped over and took a seat. McGonagall took out a teacup and saucer- from where, Draco couldn’t tell- and held it out to him. Draco took it, confused and about to question her, but the sweet herbal smell of the tea encouraged him to drink deeply instead. He noticed the faint taste of a Calming Draught, but said nothing. It was really for the best. 

“You said you  _ weren’t _ expecting me.”

“Perhaps I misspoke. Many amongst the staff, you see, had a bet as to who would be the first to arrive. It seems that my judgments were correct, and that both Neville and Horace owe me a large sum of Galleons,” she explained, an amused smile bending her thin lips, and the lines of old age tracing an expression that said she was rather pleased with herself. “I imagine, though, that who they bet on being first will be along soon, at which point they will owe me even more money.”

What could he even say about that?

Right. His rage at the Tournament. 

“Do you realize,” he began, calmly as he could, “the death toll of these kinds of tournaments reached more than a hundred, and that,” he paused, swallowing, “the last time we tried to ‘cheer people up’ with one, an innocent died and a Dark Lord returned.”

Something like pure sadness flashed past McGonagall’s eyes. It left her aging eyes slightly wet. “Yes,” she whispered, somewhat weakly. 

“And there will be more people included in this one. Four champions. And each task- its  _ themed,  _ Professor, this is all quite ridiculous and I can see no advantage to-”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall shouted at him, at which point Draco realized he had been standing, and talking quite loudly, “please, sit, and drink more tea.” He did so, and was again confused at her rather amused expression. “In addition,” she continued, “I am no longer your professor, nor a professor at all, and have not been for over a decade. You may address me as Minerva, if you please.” The corners of her wrinkled mouth turned up at the corners as Draco sipped more of the tea, eyeing her cautiously. 

“Now, I must remind you that your son is in no danger. He is only starting his third year.”

The Calming Draught was either working slowly, or not at all, because Draco had his answer at the ready. He scoffed. “You can take that up with Harry Potter, champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, at  _ fourteen _ . The ruddy tournament is too vulnerable to corruption for me to expect everything to be just fine-” 

But Draco’s complaints were cut off as a beautiful silvery shape burst into the room through a wall. He realized quickly that the shape in front of him was a stag, and it reared on its back legs as a voice to emanate from its mouth, “I’ll be there in less than a minute.” The stag looked as pissed off as Draco felt, and he had no idea how that could be possible. 

“Speak of  _ Harry Potter, champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament _ ,” mimicked Mcgo- Minerva, and this time, she looked a bit weary. She sighed. “I don’t feel much like being tag teamed by you two,” she whinged. 

Draco, on the other hand, was still staring, fascinated, at the space where the talking Patronus had been. He knew that they existed, and that members of the Order used them during the War, but he had never seen one in action. It was rather beautiful magic, and he wondered why the Death Eaters had to use such painful measures of communication. The faded red scar that was the Dark Mark itched just at the thought. 

At that moment, there was a roaring in the fireplace, and the noise did not seem to end, because Potter had just stepped through the emerald flames and had already begun to shout at Minerva. 

“Damnit Minerva!” he yelled. He was wearing a dark green traveling coat that had a soft velvet look to it, and it was flapping about his ankles with all the angry gestures he was making. His eyes were flashing with fury, and his hair was as mussed up as if he had just stopped by after fighting a couple Hydras. Leave it to Potter to look ever the hero when he’s at his most dangerous. “How could this happen. How can you let this happen- why didn’t Hermione- why in the ruddy  _ hell _ are you smiling?! Oh- hey Malfoy,” he stopped lamely. 

“Please sit,” she said, Conjuring a comfortable looking chair, and taking from below a second cup of tea. 

As Potter sat, he said, “Alright, Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head. “Absolutely not. I assume you’ve gotten the letter?” 

Potter cringed while taking a sip of his tea, and then said, “Yes, along with three others for my children. It took me so long to come because the owl needed tending to after carrying all that, and I couldn’t-” he swallowed, looking sad, “I couldn’t conjure a Patronus for a bit. I was so angry, after what I read.”

Draco nodded his agreement. “What did the kids think?”

“Well, they-”

“Gentlemen!” Minerva barked, startling Potter so that a bit of tea slopped over the side of his cup and onto his lap, “I will be the first to congratulate you on this friendship, but I do believe we have rather more important things to discuss.”

“Right,” began Potter, who was unperturbed and siphoning tea off his lap with his wand, “cancel this Tournament. It’s a bad idea.”

“I quite agree,” said Minerva. 

Draco and Potter shared a look between them, because neither were expecting this.

“I had a meeting with the Minister yesterday, as I was quite disgusted with the news myself. She explained to me that she was outnumbered and pressured by several members of the Wizengamot. Her words, off the record of course, were specifically, ‘the old hags are  _ bored. _ ’ In addition to the Wizarding world, the Prime Minister, the Muggle one, you know, needs to be careful around the American President. He is said to have a poor temperament, and all of the Allies are worried that there is war on the horizon. Neither France, Russia, or the United Kingdom want to be on the President’s bad side when he finally decides to launch a full scale attack.” 

Luckily, Potter seemed to pay more attention to the American election than he had, because he countered Minerva by saying, “but there’s a possibility he won’t be reelected! Wouldn’t we know sometime in November if he was actually still a threat?”

Minerva shook her head solemnly. “He’s trumping the opposition. The silent majority have come out of their hiding places and have really given him the support he needs to become president again.”

“Has he even done anything good in office?” Draco asked, his old inclination to politics piping up. 

“Well,” Minerva sighed, “his supporters seem to think that he’s succeeded in making America the great country it once was, but in reality, not much has changed. Only strict controls on immigration and the lowering of taxes. What’s been passed isn’t too bad, but what he’s trying to do-” she shook her head. “Let’s just say I’m grateful for the check and balance system, and that the Congress went Democrat not long after he was elected.”

“Why would he try to start a war if he’s already lowered taxes?” Draco demanded, upset. “That would tear the country apart!”

Potter groaned and said, “They’ve done it before, in 2001, you know. This President’s signature is that he’s a businessman, not a politician. I imagine he doesn’t actually have a clue to as to what he’s doing.”

“But even  _ that’s _ bad business,” Draco fumed. Potter shrugged, because there was nothing either of them could do about it. 

“That doesn’t matter, anyway. We’ve got to participate in this tournament, or risk bad relations with the States. That is something the Prime Minister insists the Muggles cannot afford right now,” finished Minerva. 

Potter opened his mouth, presumably to retort, but the fireplace roared again, and Scorpius came out of the green flames. His white blond hair was disheveled from sleep, and his robes were a bit wrinkled, but he wore a sideways smile when he laid eyes on the three of them in conference. Draco noticed a bunched up envelope in his hands, and the pearlescent glow of the prophecy in the other. He looked far too comfortable in the Headmistress’s office than he ought to be, which made Draco extremely suspicious. He looked at his son with a raised eyebrow. 

“I woke up and couldn’t find you. I found these,” he paused, waving his hands a bit wildly, “sitting on the table. I read the letter, and assumed you had come straight here to talk to Headmistress McGonagall.” He turned towards her, and continued with a polite nod in her direction, “Headmistress, forgive me, but I firmly object to the Tournament of Allies. I doubt, given my studies on basic history, that any good will come of it.”

Minerva smiled amusedly at Scorpius while he spoke, and conjured yet another chair for him. He sat, but instead of offering tea, she asked, “And what is that in your hand, boy?”

Draco beamed with pride at his son, who sheepishly smiled back. He held out the glowing orb to the headmistress, who did not take it, but floated it towards her with a spell. “I mean- I don’t remember any of it, but I reckon it’s-”

“That’s a prophecy,” whispered Potter, whose face had gone ashen while watching it suspended in air. 

Scorpius turned to Potter, slowly, eying him. From the look on his face, however, he could tell that his son was not really looking at Potter, but more likely  _ Seeing _ him. 

“Harry,” he said softly, “It’s alright, I don’t think-  I  _ know _ this one isn’t dangerous. It speaks of glory and restored honor. I promise it won’t hurt anybody.”

Then Draco remembered the events of their fifth year, and the summer his father did not come home. He remembered the frantic whisperings of the Death Eaters who had been at the fight in the Hall of Prophecy, and all the uneducated guesses on what the prophecy Voldemort desperately wanted had to say.

The prophecy, no doubt, had something to do with Potter. Draco assumed, whatever it was, made him the Harry Potter that was loved and adored worldwide for being a hero and a Saviour. 

“Yeah, okay,” said Potter unconvincingly, his face still pale. He looked a bit sick. Draco wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, because although he had to been there that night, the event had certainly changed his course in history, too. 

“Minerva, what are we going to do about this?” 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “There isn’t much of a choice. Everything is already planned, except transportation. We were wondering- Scorpius, how far can Thestrals actually fly?”

“Around the world if they wanted to,” he answered with a shrug, “Or all the way to San Diego, if I ask them nicely enough.” Scorpius gave a little smirk. 

Draco looked at him in a scrutinizing silence. 

Minerva said, “Goodness, that will not be necessary. We need them to carry the Hogwarts Express just over the Atlantic. Is that possible? We have a highly gifted staff that are perfectly capable of feather light charms.”

“I don’t see why not.” Scorpius hesitated. “But we really should ask first.”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Draco. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Scorpius? Perhaps, why you are so familiar with this office and why you can convince Thestrals of flying great distances?”

“Who did you see die?” asked Potter, and Draco guessed that he hadn’t even thought twice about asking it. Potter was always all in when he did things, and questioning was no exception. 

“Scorpius first visited me when Professor Trelawney complained of his competitive attitude in her Divination class,” Minerva chipped in, “She was upset that second years had been given the choice to take her class, and he was the epitome of the reason why. She was adamant that he did not care for the class and was trying his very best to give her a hard time.” Scorpius sniggered quietly, and Minerva laughed as well. “At which point, obviously, I found out that Scorpius is more qualified for her position than she ever was. I even was able to speak with my cousin.” She gazed at him fondly, as if her dear cousin might spring from Scorpius's head at any moment.

“And as for the Thestrals, I think I can see them because I see dead people all the time. They’re also kind of… drawn to me. The first time we went outside for a Care of Magical Creatures lesson, the entire herd came out of the Forbidden Forest and wouldn’t leave me alone. Hagrid was thrilled, and asked me to stay after class. I met the Hippogriff, Witherwings-” Potter cut him off with a loud burst of laughter, and Scorpius looked at him as one would usually look at someone who is bit mental. Minerva was looking at Draco with amusement out of the corner of her eye. 

“Oh please, continue,” Potter said, wiping his eyes. Sighing deeply, he glanced at Draco, and grinned. “ _ Witherwings _ .” He said it as if they shared an amusing inside joke.

“... Anyway, I got to meet the Thestrals more closely and, well… it turns out I can talk to them. It must be something to do with the weird Seeing thing I’ve got going on, don’t you think, Father?”

Draco blinked, and shut his mouth, which had been hanging open in awe, before saying, “Yes, that would make a lot of sense, wouldn’t it.”

“Indeed it would,” came a cool voice from somewhere above Draco’s head. He didn’t have to look up to know who it was. To his right, Potter was smiling politely and his son squealed, “Professor Dumbledore! How’ve you been?”

Draco tried very hard not to groan, or to hide his face in his hands. Instead, he looked out the window. 

“Quite well, dear, gifted boy, quite well.”

“Have you-” Scorpius started, but froze. Draco knew his son well enough to realize Scorpius wouldn’t go thirty seconds without asking his idol a question, and turned towards him. His gold and grey eyes were glassy. He was having a vision, then. Nothing to worry about. 

Until he started yelling. “No! No, absolutely not!” His hands flew up to grip his head, apparently in an attempt to stop the vision from continuing. Scorpius jumped up out of his chair with such force, that the chair toppled over, and the portraits stopped pretending to be asleep and watched hungrily as he panicked. 

“No!” He stepped back and hit the wall. 

Draco, Harry, and Minerva were all standing at this point, and Draco moved towards him. He crouched to his son’s height and whispered dangerously, “Scorpius, what’s wrong?”

Their eyes met, and Draco felt like his brain was being sucked into the vacuum that was Scorpius’s mind. " _ Legilimens. _ ”

He could hear a high pitched whisper, like a vicious snake, but no intelligible words were being formed. And then, all at once, he saw what Scorpius was Seeing: himself, muttering the Imperius Curse and pointing his wand towards a busty woman. Examining an old, ugly necklace. Brewing something obviously vile. Dueling Potter, ending with the cut off of Draco’s shouting, “ _ Cruci-! _ ” and, finally, disarming Dumbledore on top of the Astronomy tower, lit by a disgusting green light coming from the Dark Mark hanging in the sky above.

It was too much, so he ended the spell and abruptly fell backwards. Scorpius slid down the wall, breathing heavily and staring at him, still whispering repeatedly, “No.” Draco’s left arm itched, and he wondered, as Potter fell to his knees, if his scar burned at all. Minerva looked as if she could not completely comprehend the situation. 

One of Potter’s hands was gripping his upper arm tightly, trying to keep him grounded, but Draco shrugged him off and crawled towards Scorpius instead, who was glaring at him with pure hatred in his eyes. “Scorpius…” he tried tentatively. 

“Get away from me,” he hissed, standing up, “that was all so evil...” Scorpius looked defiant, even though there were tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “How many people did you hurt in the process?”

Draco was taken aback, stung. Scorpius had said he had seen most of his childhood misdeeds, hadn’t he? Or had this been left out?

“His death is on your hands, you know,” he finished, and swept out the room.

“I’ll bet,” came Dumbledore’s calm voice, “He’s gone to the Thestrals.”

Draco didn’t move. He just stared at the door Scorpius had just stomped out, heart beating rapidly. He was distantly aware of Potter’s hand, creeping somewhere on his back. 

“He didn’t know?” he asked. 

“I thought he did,” Draco answered, but his voice was strained and laced with sorrow.

“I might suggest, Draco, that you have a more serious talk with your son, sooner rather than later. He deserves to know, I believe.”

He felt his skin boil with an awful mix of resentment and shame, but it was not his voice that said, “Oh, like you did for me? With all due respect, shut up,  _ sir _ .”

There was a stunned silence. Everyone in the room was looking at Potter, who was on his feet, and fuming. Even the portraits stopped faking sleep to watch him. 

Dumbledore smiled sadly after a moment. “Fair enough, Harry,” he said, making his exit through the side of his frame.

Potter looked like he had just run a race. He was still breathing heavily as he helped Draco to his feet. “Thanks.” He tried to say it earnestly, but he was afraid it came out more scared than anything. 

Potter looked at him, expression unreadable. “Fancy a walk to the Forbidden Forest?”

\---☼☼☼---

After terse goodbyes with Minerva, he and Potter made their way down and out of the castle, drawing nearer and nearer to Hagrid's hut. He couldn’t see his son anywhere- admittedly, he didn’t know what to do if he did- but there was a steady stream of puffy grey smoke emitting from the chimney. It was a sure sign that summer was coming to an end; just a few weeks from the beginning of term and the nights were already becoming more and more chilly. Draco was reminded of the horrified look on Scorpius’s face, and he shivered, unconsciously reaching for a traveling coat to pull tighter around him. In his haste to speak to the headmistress, however, he had left it behind. 

“Oh! Here,” Potter said, because being a hero isn’t enough, and he has to be a gentleman, too. 

Draco took it anyway, thinking that it really was as soft as it looks. And then he blushed, just a bit. 

They stopped when came upon a small mossy hill that took Draco some time to realize was Hagrid’s hut, because it was overgrown with vibrant moss and beautiful flora. Butterflies of all different kinds fluttered about the hut, and some of the vines animated to try and devour them. To the right, a regal Hippogriff was staring at them. 

Draco didn’t even think twice about bowing while keeping eye contact. The beast was beautiful, though: all silver grey, huge and obviously wrought with power. The Hippogriff considered him a moment, before deciding that Draco’s respect was genuine, and bowing back. He walked over to pet him, and said formally, “You are certainly the most handsome Hippogriff I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” The Hippogriff- Witherwings, as Draco remembered- cooed loudly and lifted his wings to show off. “Very nice. Strong, too, I’d wager.” Witherwings looked pleased and Draco began to stroke his gorgeous plumage. He turned to look at Potter, who was gaping at him. “What?”

“Malfoy, that- that’s a Hippogriff.”

“Very astute, Potter. It’s a real pity you didn’t sign on with the Aurors.”

Potter shot him a scathing look. “Do you not remember?”

“I suppose you mean the time I tried to get Hagrid fired?”

He gaped, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that Potter actually cared about the oaf, so he said, “My father put me to it, Potter. You understand.”

He looked as though he might say something, but seemed to think better of it, or at least decide that the past could not be helped, and much less mended. “Well, Malfoy, it’s very good to see you coming to terms with Buckbeak.”

Draco’s hands stilled for a moment while bowing low again, keeping eye contact. “I owe you an apology, Buckbeak. Forgive my teenage self, I was a right prat.”

Buckbeak squawked in agreement. The great beast nuzzled Draco’s hand, wanting to be stroked further. Draco had turned to gesture for Potter to join, and found him to be looking at the whole scene with a fond expression on his face. The thought made heat rise in Draco’s cheeks once again. 

After a moment, Potter said, “You know, I’ll bet your son’s in there.” He was talking about Hagrid’s hut, he knew, but he couldn’t bring himself to look in it’s direction. He instead looked at Buckbeak, and the pumpkins beginning to grow just behind him. 

“Draco,” he put his hand on his shoulder, probably going for a comforting gesture, but only made Draco’s insides turn worse, “can I- can I talk to him?”

Draco turned sharply towards him. Out of all the hair-brained ideas-

“I just think he’s in shock, right now. I think I have a bit of wisdom to offer him, actually.”

“Harry Potter and wisdom are two things I hardly connect.”

Potter just chuckled, because at this point he was used to the snarky comments. “Well, it's not me that’s said it. I think he’d be even more interested that way- it was my godfather, actually. You know, Sirius.”

“Oh? And what did he have to say?”

Potter hesitated, and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “‘The world is not divided into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.’”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, then shut it immediately. He felt, lamely, tears burning somewhere behind his eyes. He stared off into space for a bit, before Harry- he decided to start referring to him as Harry after that quoted wisdom, at least in his head- dismissed himself and walked towards Hagrid’s hut. He was drawn out of his trance when Buckbeak snapped at him, relenting the loss of Draco’s long fingered hand stroking his fingers. 

“Persuasive, aren’t you?” Buckbeak gave him an indignant look. “Stubborn too. Handsome, all the same,” he added at last, not wanting to be torn to pieces. 

Draco eventually sat down, facing the Black Lake, watching the sun descending into the mountains beyond. Buckbeak joined him in the appreciation of nature’s beauty, as Draco tried very hard not to imagine his son arguing against Harry’s best efforts. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the door to Hagrid’s hut creak open, and just as he turned to face his worst fear, Scorpius had thrown his arms around his neck and tackled him flat onto the ground, though still managing to hug him tightly. His face was wet and pressing into his shirt, and there was now dirt all over Harry’s beautiful cloak, but it didn’t matter. His son was speaking quickly, running his words together without pausing for breath. 

“Dad, I am  _ so sorry. _ I was so shocked but that is no excuse to be rude or angry and I felt bad as soon as I left and Hagrid calmed me down and Harry had some  _ really  _ good insight and-”

“Scorpius, it’s all right. I could never be cross with you for my own mistakes.”

“But I shouldn’t have been cross either. It was wrong of me and I’m very sorry.”

Draco chuckled, sitting them both up. He put his hands on either of Scorpius’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. 

“I think it’s best that we forgive each other,” he said, and Scorpius nodded his agreement. He kissed his son on the forehead and ruffled his hair. 

“ _ Dad _ , I’m getting too old for that.” 

“You’re not even a teenager yet!”

“But I will be in November-” 

“Scorpius,” Harry interrupted, walking out of the hut, “Hagrid’s going into the forest now if you want to go speak to the Thestrals.”

Scorpius lept to his feet, and ran off in Hagrid’s general direction. 

“Eager, isn’t he?” Harry said, plopping down next to Draco. Their shoulders brushed, and he pulled the cloak around him, feeling chilled. They sat in silence as they watched Hagrid and Scorpius disappear into the trees.

“You know, Draco, your son is an obvious testament to how much you’ve changed. He’s a great kid, through and through. It’s clear which side you’ve acted on.”

Draco looked at Harry only find him to be staring intently back.

He smiled, and when Harry smiled back, the first stars of the night shone out of the darkness.

\---☼☼☼---

There was nothing to be done about the Tournament of Allies. The Potters, Granger Weasleys, Malfoys, and plenty of others prepared travel arrangements to San Diego. 

Aside from the assortment of students, there was a high number of their parents attending as well. Draco supposed this is because they all lived through a war that for all intents and purposes had begun the last time there was this kind of tournament. 

All Hogwarts students were required to go on the Hogwarts Express, which would travel on the ground save for the crossing of the Atlantic, at which point Thestrals would assist it’s flight. Since Scorpius was responsible for the communication that made these travel arrangements, he came home to Draco speaking rapidly of how the Express had grown to accommodate bunk beds as well as a living area in each compartment. “Absolutely bloody fantastic magic!” were his exact words.

Hermione and Weasley were taking two portkeys, one from London to New York City, and one from there to San Diego. Harry, however, was not. He told Draco the thrilling tale, shrugging, on one of their pub nights: 

“Magical travel makes me ill.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to go since you were a champion, or something?” Draco had asked. 

“Yeah, unfortunately,” he grumbled. “Everyone’s making it really hard for me to play the adversary. The Ministry is keeping all opposition out of the  _ Prophet _ .”

Draco sighed. His efforts to campaign against the Tournament were also for naught. “How are you getting to California, then?”

Harry grinned, and there was mischief in his eyes. “I’m going to fly.”

“On a broom? Potter, surely even  _ you  _ aren’t that thick.”

“No, no, I’m taking an aeroplane,” he laughed. 

Raising his eyebrows, Draco took a quick drink of his wine. 

“It’s how Muggles travel long distances,” Harry started, launching into a full monologue about how aeroplanes look and function.  

Logically, Draco knew Muggles were able to leave their respective countries and travel overseas without much trouble. But maybe it was the sheer brilliance of the invention that Harry was describing that surprised him so much. Or perhaps it was the way Harry’s passion for the topic showed up as his eyes glinted and his hands gestured wildly. 

“...and it’ll be a bit boring going by myself, sitting on a plane for thirteen hours, but oh well.” With a start, Draco realized that as he was watching Harry he had completely missed the last half of his speech. “Wait a moment- how are you getting there? Fancy a ride on an aeroplane with me?” Harry asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

What an adorable fool. Draco fell for it, hard. 

“Alright,” he said, and Harry swapped his freakish facial expressions to one of shock. Draco frowned slightly. Had he not really meant the offer? How stupid of him to assume-

“Fan- _ tastic _ !” he shouted. And ordered a round. For the entire pub. Harry was a cheery drunk. “Oh it’ll be absolutely brilliant. I can’t wait to see your face, when we’re ten  _ thousand _ meters high in the air! This- this should be good. Thank you,” he added, throwing his arm around Draco’s shoulders. 

He concealed his face by drinking deeply from his wine glass, hoping that anybody would dismiss the rosy flush on account of him being a bit tipsy.

\---☼☼☼---

The start of term began as it always did, with children and parents flocking towards Platform 9 ¾ to be sure of getting on the Hogwarts Express by eleven o’clock. There was a heightened sense of intensity and panic this year, however; all due to the fact the children needed to be ready to spend the entirety of the school year on another continent.  

Scorpius, who was as excitable as a golden retriever puppy, had run through the wall in search of the Potter family with a quick, “See you there, dad!” said haphazardly over his shoulder. 

When Draco found them, Albus was already gone, but James was talking heatedly with Rose and Hugo, while Potter had his daughter Lily in a tight embrace. Hermione was looking at Harry with pity written all over her face, and when he pulled back, Draco could see why: it was shiny with tears. He pulled his arm up over to wipe them away as he turned away from Lily and she boarded the train. 

Draco understood. It wasn't because it was her first year; it was her second. It was because she was headed towards a deadly tournament. Thinking about how he hadn’t said goodbye to Scorpius, and wanting to cheer Potter up, Draco spoke loudly to the group, “Has my son already run off with the better Potter?”

That got everyone’s attention. 

“The better Potter?” he spluttered, “Well, maybe Scorpius is the better Malfoy!”

“Riveting comeback, Harry,” muttered Weasley, rolling his eyes and turning himself and his wife away to say goodbye to their children. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Draco chided. “Potter, he’s the  _ best _ Malfoy. How dare you undermine my son.”

Tears forgotten, Harry broke into a wide grin. 

\---☼☼☼---

The airport was insane. 

Draco had no idea why he agreed to this. They had spent two hours getting through security alone, and Harry had to walk him through everything. It was very nearly embarrassing.

The crowds were even worse than the ones at the platform they had just come from. There’s a miniature shopping mall in the center of all the terminals, and Draco had to drag Harry away from a shop called  _ Harrod’s  _ even though it smelled delicious. No matter how wonderful, the queue was still out the door. 

And the planes turned out to be a lot more menacing than Draco pictured- metallic, beastlike, even, and basically the stuff nightmares were made out of. 

“Thank Merlin we’ve got first class seats,” Harry murmured to him as they boarded, “this bloody plane is going to be full to the brim.”

Draco wondered if this would affect the aeroplane’s ability to fly. Potter detected this from his ashen expression and assured him that everything was going to be alright. 

Harry also offered him the window seat, which he took. 

“The view’s going to be gorgeous,” Potter said grinning, but he wasn’t looking out the window as the plane took off. 

No, he was looking at Draco. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to be intense in the next chapter...  
> Thank you! Comments and kudos welcome. :-)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is definitely my first ever fic, and I would love if you guys tell me what you think! Or ask me questions, that's cool too. I'm pretty sure this fic is going to be long, so it may take a while to get fully Drarry, but it will happen, I swear. Thank you ever so much for reading!  
> Find me on tumblr: celestialconspiracy (personal) or blackholehuman (all things Drarry)


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